Street Dog
by transemacabre
Summary: The story of Jon Moxley's transformation into Dean Ambrose. Are we doomed to become what we've been conditioned to be? Or can even a street dog defy the world, and crawl out of the gutter?
1. Chapter 1

_1995_

Jon stepped down from the schoolbus and made his way down the sidewalk, dodging broken beer bottles and kicking aside disgarded cigarette butts. The chilly November wind seemed to go right through his well-worn and ripped jacket; he shivered violently. He walked quickly, keeping his eyes on the ground, avoiding anyone else he happened to pass on the street. His ugly little corner of Cincinatti was cold, and cruel, and dead-looking.

He made it to their ratty apartment without incident, pausing to bolt and lock the door behind him. He knew his mother would be gone all night, doing whatever it was that she did to pay their rent and put food on the table. Jon was old enough now to have an inkling what that was, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. Instead, he hung his jacket on his bedroom door, made himself a sandwich and sat cross-legged on the floor, digging his homework out of his pockets.

Jon didn't carry a backpack. He had learned the hard way that he would only have his backpack stolen, or ripped, his papers and books strewn about and stomped on. Just like everything else he'd had in his life, it would be taken from him and ruined. He kept his books in his locker at school, and carried his homework in his pockets, neatly folded. He did math equations off the top of his head, and wrote a book report on a book he'd read in bits and starts throughout the past week, whenever he could slip into the school library for a few minutes. His homework was then neatly folded and returned to his pockets; he'd wear these jeans again tomorrow. He only had a couple pairs of pants, and the jeans were the warmest. He wore them almost every day in the winter.

The apartment was small, dimly-lit, and the paint was peeling off the walls. Only one burner worked on the stove. They didn't have any furniture or a TV, not after his mom's ex-boyfriend had stolen it all a couple months back, after cracking Jon's mom over the head and knocking her out. All that was left was the couch, and Jon's mom slept on that. Jon slept on the mattress on the floor in the bedroom. He didn't mind so much, anyway it was better than her having guys around like she did sometimes. One of the girls in his class had five brothers and sisters, and they all shared one room, sleeping three to a bed. At least Jon didn't have to fight any siblings for food or clothes.

He took a bath, then brushed his teeth in the bathroom mirror, rubbing a circle into the steam on the mirror so he could check his reflection. Jon's dirty blond hair was getting longer; already some of the other boys at school had been taunting him, calling him a girl. Jon wasn't sure why being called a girl was such an insult, but he knew that they meant it that way, so he flew at them with his fists and knees. He used to get beat up all the time, but he had hit an early growth spurt, and was now the biggest boy in his grade. The other boys were warier of fighting him. Jon frowned at his reflection. He wasn't sure who his father was, but he decided he must've been an ugly guy. Jon didn't think he looked much like his mother, who was tall, and slender, and quite pretty even if she wore too much makeup. His arms and legs were all out of proportion with his body, and his forehead was too broad, and he decided his nose was funny-looking. He turned away from his reflection and climbed into bed. It wasn't that late, but his homework was all done and with no TV there was nothing else to do but go to sleep. He laid awake for some time, watching the shadows flicker on the ceiling as cars drove by on the street outside, hearing a police siren in the distance, and somewhere closer, maybe just down the street, the tinny sound of people arguing.

His mother woke him up as she came in. Jon listened to the sound of her heels clicking on the linoleum as she walked into the apartment. She crept into his room and knelt beside his mattress. He pretended to be asleep as she gently stroked his brow, her nails combing through his hair. She smelled like cheap perfume and something powdery - makeup, probably. "I love you, sweetheart," she whispered, and she kissed him, feather-soft, on the cheek. Jon kept his breathing perfectly even until he heard her walk back into the living room to her couch. He listened until the rustling sound of her clothes and blanket stopped, and then he rolled over and went back to sleep.

His name is Jon Moxley, and he is not yet ten years old.


	2. Chapter 2

_1996_

That summer, they got kicked out their apartment, _again_. Jon's mom couldn't come up with the rent money. Either one of her boyfriends stole it out of her purse, or - just as likely - she drank it away. They packed up their few pitiful belongings in the middle of the night, and caught a bus out of town. They ended up at Jon's grandmother's farm in the country.

Jon couldn't remember his grandmother. His mom said they'd visited her a couple of times when he was really small, but when they showed up at the farm house, he didn't recognize the woman who came out and pulled him into a hug. When she let him go, he smelled like an ashtray. Jon never saw his grandmother without a cigarette in her mouth. "So, it looks like your ass finally showed back up," his grandmother said to his mom. His mom glared back at her.

"We need a place to stay for awhile."

"How long's awhile?"

"A couple weeks."

His grandmother turned to look at Jon. "You better be out before school starts in the fall. I'm not putting up with having to get him up for school and going to PTA meetings and all that crap."

* * *

The only thing Jon's grandmother loved more than cigarettes was Jesus. She had the all-consuming obsession with Jesus of a woman who has done much wrong in her life, and is desperate for some kind of forgiveness for it. She made Jon go with her to church every Sunday (his mom always had some excuse not to go). He didn't really understand all the "amens" and the way the preacher would roll his head back and shout so loud that spit flew out of his mouth, but he came to understand some things: He understood that God was Power, and that God did anything he wanted to do, to anyone he wanted. If you pissed off God, he would send an angel to kill your kids. Or he might destroy your entire damn city. Or sometimes, like the Job story, he would kill everyone you loved, just because he felt like it. You couldn't really understand God, or why he did what he did, all you could do was hope he didn't single you out.

Jon found that very impressive.

But better than church was watching wrestling with his uncle, David. David was couple years younger than Jon's mom, and he lived down the road with his girlfriend and their baby, Maggie. David and his girlfriend were always fighting and throwing things at each other, but the next day they'd be back together like nothing had happened. Jon liked the good times, when Uncle David's girlfriend would make sandwiches while he and David watched television, with baby Maggie sitting in Jon's lap.

"Get em Shawn! Get em Shawn!" David would chant whenever Shawn Michaels had a match. Jon liked watching Michaels, but he liked Goldust and Hunter Hearst Helmsly a lot, too. They both seemed smarter than Michaels, and they knew how to screw with their opponent's head.

"Uncle David," Jon asked him one day while they were watching the Undertaker fight Bret Hart, "do you think I could be a wrestler?"

"_You_?" David sounded a little disbelieving. He paused to think over his reply. "I guess so, I mean, all these guys had to start somewhere. But you gotta be big to be a wrestler. Real big. All these guys are over six feet. I dunno if you'll be big enough. Your mama is tall but she's, what's the word, petite."

"Was my father a big guy?" Jon asked him.

"I don't know who your father is, kiddo. I don't think your mama knows. Anyway, here's Bret going for a pin - ah, he kicked out!"

On those long lazy summer days, any day that wasn't a Sunday, Jon could be found wandering through the fields and woods behind his grandmother's house, finding old hunting trails almost covered by vegetation. He wasn't sure if there were snakes out there, so he found a stick that was as tall as he was, stripped the leaves and little branches off it, and used it as a walking stick. Wherever he went, he tapped the stick on the ground to let snakes know he was coming. He'd learned in school that snakes were deaf but could feel vibrations. He found a little creek that had tiny silver fish swimming in it, and brought Maggie there one day to let her see. Maggie was only three years old, but she wasn't scared of anything. She waded into the water and tried catching the fish by hand. They had an amazing way of darting here and there in unison, as though every fish somehow knew what all the other fish were doing at the same time. Finally she gave up and splashed towards him, yelling, "Jon! Pick me up!"

He scooped her right up, brushing strands of her almost colorless pale hair back from her face. "Who do you love?" he asked Maggie.

"Jon!"

"And who does Jon love?"

She giggled. "Maggie!"

Jon gave her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek so that she would squeal and kick her plump legs. He swung Maggie up on his shoulders, took his walking stick, and set off in the direction of her house. As they went, they crossed a road and walked past the church where his grandmother took him on Sundays. This time, Jon saw that some kids were playing a ball game in the lot next to the church. They had bats, and from seeing it on television Jon knew they had to be playing baseball. As he walked by with Maggie on his shoulders, the other kids turned to look at them. Most of them were about Jon's age, and he had seen some of them in church. He looked back at them shyly, hoping to be invited to join in, but no one said anything. So he walked on.

* * *

A few days later, Jon's mom was passed out drunk in their room, and he could hear Uncle David and his girlfriend squabbling from all the way down the road, so Jon took off on foot back towards the church. He hoped some of those kids were there - maybe he could walk up and introduce himself. Maybe some of them liked wrestling. Or maybe...

The kids _were_ there.

Steeling himself, Jon walked up to the nearest kid and said, "Hi, uh, I'm Jon. What's going on."

The other boy looked at him oddly. "We're getting ready to play baseball, what's it look like."

Jon shrugged. "It's just a figure of speech."

"You talk weird," the other boy said. Jon was used to that kind of comment. He read a lot of books at school and sometimes Uncle David let him read his comic books, so Jon had picked up a lot of vocabulary. Jon privately thought that he was smarter than most other kids.

Another boy ran over to them. "Darryl never showed up, we're a man short. Hey, who's this?" he asked, pointing at Jon. Didn't anyone teach him pointing was rude? Jon was a little annoyed, these kids were acting like he was a zoo animal or something.

"He says his name's Jon," said the first boy.

The second boy eyed Jon curiously. "Well, we need somebody to bat. You wanna do it?"

"Sure," said Jon, who had never so much as held a bat in his life. Somebody gave him a baseball cap, and handed him the bat. He tried to imitate the stance of the baseball players he'd seen on TV. When the ball came flying at his head, he took a deep breath and swung - CRACK! The ball went flying. The kid in the outfield with the glove went running after it. Jon tossed down the bat and ran the bases. The other kids on his team were jumping up and down and cheering, and it - it felt really good. Jon slid home and someone gave him a high five, and a warm feeling grew and expanded in his chest. He had done something right. He was a natural at bat. He'd scored a home run for his team, _and they liked him_.

They won the game. As everybody got ready to go home, the first boy he'd been talking to ran over to Jon and said, "Can you come back and play tomorrow?"

Jon cracked a smile. "Sure. What's your name, by the way?"

"Caleb."

"Caleb, nice to meet ya," Jon stuck out his hand to shake on it. "See ya tomorrow."

* * *

Jon played almost every day the rest of the week. When he showed up, the other boys on his team would slap him on the back and laugh and cheer. It was the first time Jon had ever had _friends_. The next Monday, he fell asleep on Uncle David's couch that night and woke up to the morning light shining through the window at him. Groaning, he rolled off the couch and ate some leftovers out of the fridge. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday but there was no point in changing. Jon didn't have a lot of clothes, and the shirts David had given him were much too big for him, no good for playing ball in. He had to wear the same couple pairs of jeans and the same handful of t-shirts every time he went to play.

"Jon?" Maggie came toddling out of her room, holding her teddy bear by the ear. "'m hungry, Jon."

He wondered where her parents were. Probably sleeping off hangovers, judging by how much Uncle David and his girlfriend had been drinking last night. "You hungry, huh? You want some eggs?"

"Yes," said Maggie as she tried to climb onto a chair. Jon picked her up and sat her safely in the chair before cracking some eggs. Scrambled eggs were simple enough to make and fast. He poured some juice into Maggie's sippy cup and gave it to her. He kept one eye on the clock the entire time. The game wouldn't start for another hour. He had enough time to feed Maggie and then make it to the church.

As they ate their breakfast, Maggie asked Jon, "Stay and color with me."

Jon groaned. "I can't today. I got a game."

"Please!" Maggie looked up at him with tragic eyes.

"Later, Maggie." Jon took their empty plates and washed them in the sink. He had thirty-five minutes. Maggie slid out of her chair, grabbed her teddy, and started after him.

"Wait! Wait!" Maggie followed him out of the door. "I wanna go with Jon!"

Jon swung around, picked her up, and carried her back inside. "You can't right now." She began to kick and cry. He sat her on the floor. She stared back up at him, tears welling in her eyes. Jon's heart sank in his chest. He needed to be thinking about the game, not feeling like a bad guy for treating his little cousin like crap. She was just a baby, she didn't understand that he couldn't stick around right now. "I'll be back soon," Jon promised her, kissing her on the cheek. Giving up, Maggie took her teddy and ran back to her room. Jon left the house, locking the door behind him so that she couldn't follow him again. He ran most of the way to the church lot.

"You're late," Caleb told him as he ran up. They had started the game without him.

"Whatever." Jon grabbed his bat. He felt like crap and was out of breath from running. He knew he didn't look good, with his tangled hair and the sweat seeping through his shirt, but his teammates didn't even ask about it. Would it kill them to say 'hey, you okay?' That just made him more pissed off as he went up to bat.

The ball came flying at him. He swung. Thunk! It landed in the catcher's mitt.

"Strike one!"

Jon shifted his feet, trying to get back to his stance. The ball went flying. Thunk.

"Strike two!"

Now he could hear his teammates grumbling behind him. They hadn't done well this game. They needed Jon to hit a homer and help them win the game. The ball went flying. Jon swung with everything he had.

Thunk. "Strike three! You're out!"

Jon panted, trying not to choke on the dust. It was the first time he had ever striked out. Caleb came charging up behind him, red in the face, and shoved Jon in the chest. "Asshole!" Caleb yelled. "You cost us the game!"

"Yeah, and you hit like a girl, pansy," said one of the others. They had recently learned what a 'pansy' was, and now it was their new favorite insult. Jon clutched the bat so tightly that his hands went white. He thought of Maggie's tragic face. He looked at Caleb and all he could think about was how he had let Maggie down to come here and be 'friends' with this snot-nosed little ingrate.

"Asshole," Caleb said again. "Go home to your ugly whore mom."

Jon swung the baseball bat at Caleb's head. It connected, _hard_. Caleb went down in a heap, and the next blow landed in his gut. Caleb was rolling and screeching, and Jon felt powerful. It felt like being God. Someone fucks with you, and you hit them back, only three times as hard as they could ever imagine. Every time Caleb tried to block a blow, Jon would swing and connect with a new body part - his leg, his face, his back. Caleb would never, _ever_ forget Jon Moxley.

Stopping because his arms were tired, Jon looked up to see the shocked faces of the other kids. They all looked as snotty and stupid as Caleb had just a few moments before, before Jon had beat him nearly senseless. Jon couldn't remember why he had wanted to be friends with them in the first place. I'm better off alone, he decided. He kept the bat in case someone tried to play the hero and rush him from behind, and set off back to his grandmother's house. The walk felt like the longest twenty minutes of his life. His clothes stuck to him with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his face. His arms and legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Finally, he reached the house, walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water.

His mother found him there a few minutes later. "Pack your bag," she told him. "We're going back to Cincinatti tonight."

Jon put his dirty glass in the sink and wordlessly left the house. He walked down the road to Uncle David's house, and collapsed on his couch. He closed his eyes for a minute, and opened them again when he heard the sound of Maggie's little footsteps. "C'mere," he said to her, gesturing for her to come closer. Not caring that he was sweaty, Maggie climbed up beside him on the couch. "I'm sorry for not coloring with you this morning," he told her.

"S'okay, Jon," Maggie told him. "I still love you."

The words were like a knife to the gut. "I love you too, Maggie. You gonna come visit me in Cincinatti?"

"Where's that?"

"That's where I live. Where I'm gonna live, after tomorrow."

"You leaving?" Maggie's eyes were wide.

"Yeah. I have to, Maggie. I'm sorry."

She started crying, and clung to him. Jon wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. His little scrap of love. The only person who looked up to him and wanted to be around him. He felt like scum at that moment. Lower than an animal.


End file.
